The Distance Between US by Lindsey Osorio (best historical biographies .txt) 📖

him for you.”

“I can’t hear you. What? Ugh. Listen, my connection is bad, but I need you to work your magic. I’ll call you back when I get to the hotel.” The phone goes dead, and I push it back onto the table as though it’s about to explode.

Skye giggles. “You’re crazy.”

“She didn’t know it was me. She’s calling back later.”

Xander spins in his chair, making me gasp. “Does anyone want to listen?” he asks, taking off the headphones and holding them out.

“Yes.” Skye jumps up and moves forward. When she’s settled into the chair next to Xander’s listening to the band he spins around to face me.

“So why not this?” I ask, sitting on the couch again.

“What?”

“Why wouldn’t you produce music for a living? It seems like a passion of yours.”

He rolls the chair forward until our knees bump. “My father would never front the money for something like that.”

I stare at our knees, wondering if I should use the wheels on his chair to my advantage and shove him away. I ignore the urge. “But he built this studio?”

“My older brother is a classical guitarist. This was to provide a creative outlet. A hobby. I spent a lot of time in here with him learning this stuff. But this is not a career in my father’s opinion.”

“I thought you didn’t care what your father thought,” I say.

He narrows his eyes as if considering the question. “I guess I care what my father’s money thinks.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Without it I can’t be free of him. It’s like a double-edged sword.”

I get what he’s saying: that he needs money to go to college, get his own career, so he can make his own money. But I wonder if Xander really only cares about the money. He seems to put a lot of effort into making his father angry. I’m guessing he cares a lot about what his father thinks.

On the other side of the glass Mason sings with his eyes closed. He looks ridiculous.

Xander taps my knee with a closed fist, bringing my attention back to him. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think . . .”

I tilt my head, waiting for him to finish.

“After last Saturday . . . and you returned my camera without a word. . . .” His eyes bore into mine.

“What?” I ask, dying to know why he’s not finishing his thoughts. What he’s leaving unsaid. Did how we left things bother him as much as they did me?

“I’m out of town this weekend but next Saturday? Are we still on?”

I blink once. That’s what he wants? More career days?

Skye lets out a yelp, startling me. “That was so awesome.” She stands.

Xander stands as well, walks over, and pushes the Mic button. “That’s a wrap. Good job, guys.” He goes to the table and pockets his keys and cell then looks at me apologetically. “I didn’t know you were coming. I really am on a tight schedule.” He checks his watch. “I’m supposed to be at the airport in twenty minutes.”

 

 “I’m pretty sure we can walk ourselves to the car.”

“So I’ll see you next Saturday?”

I want to say, “I don’t know, you better check with your girlfriend first. She just called; should we ask her?” But I don’t. I just nod. Because girlfriend or not, I want to see him on Saturday. Apparently I’m further from being over him than I hoped and I hate myself for being so weak.

Chapter 24

 

Monday morning as I say good-bye to my mom and grab my backpack for school there’s a knock on the door. I look over to see Xander standing there holding his two cups. My heart jumps to my throat. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. He has a girlfriend. If I knew . . . My heart doubles its speed when he smiles. If more than my heart knew that we have something, I could open that door right now and face disappointing my mother.

“Who’s that?”

This is not a good time for this. My mom and I finally feel right again. I shake my head no, but instead of walking away Xander holds up a drink with a smirk as if to say, I’m not leaving so let me in.

I narrow my eyes and smile a little. All right, if he wants to play it that way. Game on. “Oh, that looks like Mrs. Dalton’s grandson. He came in the other day to pick up a doll for her. I’ll just tell him we don’t open until nine today and to come back later.”

“Oh no, honey. Mrs. Dalton is our best customer. Why don’t you let him in and see what he needs.”

Or there’s that. Crap.

I slowly unlock the door. “Hi,” I say when I open it. His familiar scent wafts in with the breeze and doesn’t help my already racing heart. I take a deep breath. “We’re not open yet. Did your grandma need something?”

He takes a sip of the drink then hands it to me. I cringe. That act alone is going to make my mom think he is the most obnoxious rich person in the world who wants me to hold his drink while he shops.

“I want to meet your mom,” he says loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes, my mom is much more knowledgeable about the dolls than I am.” I turn toward my mother. “Mom, he . . . um . . . I’m sorry, what was your name again? Wellington or something?”

A crease of confusion forms between his brows, but I can tell he also thinks it’s funny.

“No, that wasn’t your name. Um . . .”

“Xander.”

“Right. I knew it was something odd like that.”

“Caymen,” my mom says. “Sorry, my daughter is very dry. She’s just kidding.”

“Last time Xander came in he was really interested in the sleeping baby dolls. Didn’t you say they made your heart happy just to look at them?”

“I don’t recall saying that but it sounds like me.”

I laugh then quickly suck in my lips to stop myself. “Maybe you could show him our collection, Mom.”

My mom tilts her head at me, obviously confused. She’s going to call me out. She must sense I know Xander. I need to get out of here. I shake the full cup of hot chocolate in my hand, pretending it’s empty. “There’s a trash outside. I’ll just take care of this for you.” I turn back to my mom. “I’m going to be late. I’ll see you after school.”

“Have a great day, honey.”

I leave, flashing Xander a look of wide-eyed innocence. A sadness follows me out of the store, and I can’t decide if it’s because I just lied to my mom again or because I really do want my mom to know Xander. Not just know him but like him.

I’m ten steps from school when a pair of hands grabs my arms from behind, stopping me in my tracks. “You are the biggest brat. You know that, right?” Xander says in my ear. He lets go and I turn around, smiling.

“No, you are. I told you I didn’t want you to meet my mom yet. But you thought you’d do it anyway.”

“Yes, I did. I wanted to show you that all moms like me. And your mom is no exception: she loves me.”

My heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“I didn’t know it was going to cost me a hundred and fifty bucks to prove it but she’s smitten.”

Oh. Of course she loved him. He was a customer. “You bought a doll?” He isn’t holding a bag so I grab the lapels of his open jacket and look inside.

“It’s not on me, woman. I put it in the car.”

“Who did you buy?”

“You don’t honestly expect me to remember.”

“I know you remember.”

“Daphne.”

“You bought a Wailer?”

“Yes, I was feeling a little frustrated in there, and this screaming baby represented my mood very well. I’ll just give her to my grandma next year for her birthday.” He looks down. “You thought I stashed the doll in my coat?”

I realize I’m still holding tight to his jacket. “If your ego fits in there anything is possible.” Just as I’m about to let go, he puts his hands over mine, sandwiching them between his chest and his warm hands.

I’m now staring at the open collar of his name-brand shirt, trying to pretend that he’s not staring at me. Classmates walk by me, rushing to get to class, and I sense them looking at me.

“I thought you were out of town.”

He shrugs a little. “I’m back.”

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other until Saturday.” My voice comes out breathy.

“I couldn’t wait.”

My heart pounds loudly in my ears. “Whatever happened the other night, anyway?”

“With what?” he asks softly. Or maybe I can’t hear him because of the whole heart-pounding thing.

“The hotel crisis of the decade. Did you find a replacement shirt?”

“Yes. One trip down to LA is all it took.”

Right. LA, the place where he saw Sadie Newel. My good mood leaves quickly. “Is that all?”

He nods and I’m about to pull my hands away when he says, “Come to the benefit with me?”

 “What?”

 

“It’s in two weeks. There’ll be dancing, schmoozing, sucking people dry of their money. It’s for my mom’s charity.”

“Another career day?”

“No.”

I meet his eyes. Isn’t that something he should take his girlfriend to? “I have plans that night.”

“Doing what?”

“Avoiding a benefit.” I smile. “I better go. I’m really late.” Why aren’t my feet moving?

“Bye, Caymen.” He lets go of my hands.

I drop mine to my sides but then surprise myself by giving him a hug. He hugs me back, and I linger there longer than I should. Why can’t I just walk away from Xander Spence and not look back? The tardy bell rings behind me.

“I gotta go.” I push away and turn to leave.

“Caymen,” he says, stopping me.

I turn back. “Yeah.”

“The employee who doesn’t know how to use an iron?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t fired. I know that bothered you so I . . . He wasn’t fired.”

Why does this news make me want to cry? “Good. Maybe he should attend the next career day I host where we’ll learn how to properly iron all your T-shirts.”

“I’ll extend the invite.”

That afternoon as I’m sitting behind the register doing homework and my mom is wiping down counters, she chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“Mrs. Dalton’s grandson.”

“Xander?”

“Yes, Xander. He was funny this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask hopefully. Maybe he really did make a good impression on my mom. Maybe it wouldn’t bother her after all to know we hang out.

“I don’t believe he wanted you to throw away his trash. And then, after you left, he was telling me how much he liked your name and how he had just been to the Cayman Islands last year. He asked how often I went as though everyone in the world goes wherever they want whenever they want.”

I’m usually the one making fun of the rich and she’s the one telling me to watch myself. For years it made me angry because I knew she felt the same way. And now Xander is the one she chooses to pick on? A lump forms in my throat and I don’t think I can talk through it. I try anyway. “He seemed nice,